His Lighthouse
by Isabelle
Summary: Set post 'Forgiveness' -- Cordy finds Angel devastated. A/C


**His Lighthouse**  
  
by Isabelle  
  
Disclaimers: Both Angel, Cordy and Connor belong to Joss Whedon and WB.  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Feedback: isabelle@komodo-skin.com  
  
Summary: Post 'Forgiving'--Cordelia returns to find a wrecked Angel.  
  
A/N: This is just my second A/C fic--I don't read the A/C fiction but I was a bit inspired by Monday's episode. *g*  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Love lies.  
  
Lovelies painted his sigh before he saw her come in.  
  
The wall was starting to blend in with the dresser and the debris in the floor.  
  
It was all one puddle of lovely color that burnt his sigh.  
  
All seemed dark. Reds looked like grays, baby blues looked like blacks.  
  
There was nothing of worth to see, nothing of worth to do.  
  
He hated everything, above all himself for trusting, for loving, for just being.  
  
Having a soul had never hurt so much. It was a deep steady burning within him that was simply killing him.  
  
His muscles seemed to have lost their allegiance to him, they disobeyed him and laughed at him, shaking uncontrollably until he though he might dance.  
  
He did not know how long he sat there, how long was he fighting his own continuous civil war--regardless, he felt her hand on his shoulder and he felt her sit down on the bed with him.  
  
He said not a word for the longest time, as if time might defy them and fly without them.  
  
Time was at a standstill of her warm breath against his shoulder, then she placed her forehead against his shoulder blade.  
  
He could almost feel her soft skin, radiating life into him. Steady heartbeat. Fluttering nerves.  
  
She was real, as real as him...  
  
"I'm so sorry..." she whispered.  
  
He said not a word but continued to stare at his lovelies, lovelies became rivers when he felt her tears soak through his black shirt, tears that told a thousand words and sang a thousand songs.  
  
Tears that told of his grief of her grief, of them of what it had been, of what it was and what would be.  
  
Tears that sang to him, tears that made him feel something else other than sorrow for the past few days.  
  
He did not realize that he was crying, he did not realize he was standing up and ripping his son's empty crib to pieces until there was nothing left, until all he had left was to slide down to the floor in a heap of nothingness and mourning.  
  
Her hands were on his face, taking tears from him and placing them upon herself, like his rock that never wavered, his lighthouse in the  
storm.  
  
From the blackness of himself he reached out to her to have her place his head against her chest and rock him.  
  
Rock-a-lullaby.  
  
Back and forth until he was out in the waves, coming and going, swaying and staying, laughing and crying, living and dying.  
  
Life a safe haven from the shadows, there she was.  
  
She whispered nothings into his ear and told him things he wouldn't understand but saved him in the black night.  
  
Soft, long hands running roads through his hair, until he didn't know whether to be grateful or upset.  
  
He fell asleep upon her breast--the first time he had slept in days.  
  
But his slumber was not quiet, restful or serene. It was filled with memories, good memories--too good for it to be a dream.  
  
The dreams of demons were not happy, not of plump little boys who loved their father. Not of happiness, of sunshine, of silky hair and long bodies.  
  
Dreams of demons should have blood. Blood and lust and savagery.  
  
This dream was not for him--it was so wonderful that he hated it, hated it until his heart hurt and he started crying--reaching out for his lighthouse in the sea.  
  
The sea of dreams, the sea of sorrows, the sea of him.  
  
And there she was, shining in the night...  
  
"What happened to your hair?" was the first thing he asked.  
  
Her eyes were swollen from too much crying and she was tired but beautiful--like always. When had he ever known her not to be?  
  
"Hair cut... and dye," she said--unsure.  
  
He nodded, not really making a difference but knowing that she would want to hear something. "Looks good."  
  
Her face turned soft.  
  
She wanted to talk about it.  
  
"I know...everything," she said softly. She looked down, a small blonde curl falling on her forehead.  
  
If he didn't feel so weak he would've reached out and tucked it behind her ear... just for the purpose of touching her.  
  
But she was touching him, warm fingers tracing the tear patterns on his face.  
  
"Why are you back?" he asked quietly.  
  
She smiled, faintly. "I tried..." she took a deep breath and he could almost see her brain working from her forehead, it wrinkled and relaxed, rinse, repeat. Soft brown eyes looked back at him from underneath thick lashes. "But I couldn't stay away... I missed," her breath hitched a sob and now it was him tracing the patterns of the tears from her cheeks. "I missed the gang... and Connor," both of their eyes darkened. "...and I missed you."  
  
She was afraid to look at him. Afraid of what she might see?  
  
Afraid that he might back away and ask her what exactly she meant.  
She was so afraid it made her cry more.  
  
"It's moments like this that it's so hard to be strong..." she smiled, one of those sour smiles that tells you not all is well. "I keep trying to make lemonade...but I can't find the sugar..."  
  
And his lighthouse was weeping, soft sobs that broke his already bruised heart.  
  
He pulled her against him and smelled her hair, it smelled like faint lilacs and honey.  
  
Before he knew it they were both crying. Like sobbing parents, like mourning lovers.  
  
The pain he was feeling was radiated to her and likewise to him.  
  
"We're going to get him back, Angel--I promise," she said desperately, maybe more to tell herself. A reassurance, a buoyancy.  
  
He nodded vigorously. "I know we are," he whispered back to her almost harshly.  
  
And she wanted to smile but all her smiles were like frowns but it didn't matter because there were sparkles in her eyes. "And we'll find our sugar, sugar is findable--nothing is ever lost..."  
  
He nodded, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. "We will."  
  
She looked at him in amazement for a moment--a sweet moment, one of those that exist only the saddest moments in life.  
  
"Yeah..._we_ will."  
  
"_We_," he repeated but made no attempt to stand up, simply sinking to his pillows and bringing her down with him.  
  
She didn't protest, not at all, Resting her head on his chest and listened to him breathe though he didn't need to.  
  
Something one had to live through...life's lemonades.  
  
THE END


End file.
